Stolen Shots
by windstruck07
Summary: A photographer flies his way to the South East, looking for the perfect subject to grace his latest portfolio. Within a third class city on a hot May afternoon, he encounters a girl carrying baggages too many for her size amidst the hustle and bustle of downtown Ibalong. All it took was one stolen shot, and Kristoff finally found his subject: a clumsy strawberry blonde girl (KA)


**Disclaimer: I do not own the anything.**

 **Summary:** A photographer flies his way to the South East, looking for the perfect subject to grace his latest portfolio. Within a third class city on a hot May afternoon, he encounters a girl carrying baggages too many for her size amidst the hustle and bustle of downtown Ibalong. All it took was one stolen shot, and Kristoff Bjorman finally found his subject: a clumsy strawberry blonde twenty year old on a quest to find her identity.

 **... ... ...**

 **Stolen Shots**

 _by: windstruck07_

A famous saying from the wise Confucius dictates that a picture speaks a thousand words. There is so much the image of a sun setting beneath a horizon of crystal sea can convey: from the comfort of twilight as the night approaches, to the melancholy of a day nearing its end. The message of one picture is dependent to the connotation of the eyes who see it, for one piece of paper cannot contain the many things one can observe in a single image. The more in depth an observer thinks, the wider the range of messages interpreted. Multiple messages representing one image... among which a photographer only needs one.

Kristoff Bjorman was a young man who was content being the observer. To him the world was a giant, three-dimensional, wide-screen television, and the people in it were the stars living their own stories. He had documented the lives of the pampered upperclassmen, and studied the hardships of those with the misfortune of living in the streets. The stories of other people interested him, yet he found no pleasure in playing a major role in theirs. He was the passer by who took pictures of memories, and kept it with him wherever he went. He traveled from place to place, snapped a photo, and wordlessly told the world stories about them. The world loved the stories he silently told... but they never knew the man behind the lens.

People never knew if Kristoff was white or tan or black. They never knew if he had black or red or blond hair, or if he had blue or green or brown eyes. They never knew if he had an unnatural obsession with reindeer, or that he had visited nearly every famous ice cream factory in the world. They never knew if he was tall or short, thin or fat, man or woman... because Kristoff was one of the world's greatest mysteries. He wanted to keep it that way no matter how much his grand pabbie insisted that he reveal himself.

All people knew was that he was 'The Ice Master'. He was called as such because all of the memories he took seemed frozen in ice: photographs filtered in cyan hues, expressing bittersweet messages of longing, of wanting, and of needing. He was the photographer who captured the desire of a lone man's beating heart, the ache of the dying comedian's smile, and the mystery of a wanderer's state of mind. Kristoff was as much of an enigma as the picture stories he shared to the world, and that was what drew enthusiasts of photography to his works.

One moment in time will change how the world sees him forever.

His story begins on a warm mid-afternoon, a thousand miles away from where he lived. It was a small, third class city, bustling with street vendors and civilians and jeepneys and cars and pedicabs. Commercial buildings were situated untidily on each side, and yet no man would find it hard memorizing the streets filled with the typical city activity. Some places held an unpleasantly pungent and funky smell, like the wet markets or the factory depots, yet some had more redeeming qualities like the preservation of greenery and flora, like nature reserves, parks, and a few landmarks. The heat was unbearable, especially for a man like Kristoff who very much preferred the cold. But there was a different kind of thrill in being a stranger to some third class world that triggered this photographer's sense of adventure. It was the feeling of being in an entirely new place: a place that wasn't filled with skyscrapers or taxis or fancy cars or cabs; a place that wasn't filled with people in heavy suits or faces caked with make up, or bodies drenched in sickly sweet cologne; a place that wasn't littered by the expensive first class shops, or the neon lights and signs; a place where low key was high key, where all lived for what truly mattered.

The thrill of a world existing in the tropics was that people paid no heed for the pricey and luxurious things. They found more beauty in the natural structures of the earth than the eloquence and style of man-made innovations. They exercised what Kristoff deemed as... contentment, resilience, industry, and strength. How they valued the little things was what impressed him the most, and the young photographer's goal was to capture this message by finding the one subject that tells it all...

Unfortunately, Kristoff never found his subject... yet.

That all changed on that same day when he was passing by a spacious boulevard overlooking the sea. The air was warm and moderately windy, perfect for strolling and eating cheap street food on sticks. He was dressed in his most comfortable T-shirt, flak jacket, and cargo pants with a fisherman's cap on his head, a pair of Islander sandals on his feet, and a professional's DSLR camera in hand. The people in that area were particularly fond of foreigners, and Kristoff's tall and bulky frame and corn-colored hair caught most of the locals' attention. He could only ever manage to exchange awkward smiles with them, and occasionally, he'd ask to take some of the tourists' and locals' pictures. Every blink of the camera's apertures captured images of children in undershirts flying kites as they balanced over the nearby sea wall. Others were pictures of vendors walking by the boulevard in bouyant strides. Sometimes a few outlanders asked for him to take pictures of them by the bridge as the sea breeze whipped against their wild and frizzy hair.

As his eye searched the native world through his lens, that was when he caught sight of something quite odd... something he thought that seemed out of place, something he thought belonged somewhere else.

"Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap, oh crap..."

A girl with fair skin and strawberry blonde hair.

"Hey, no, don't you touch that! That's a rare piece of lingerie from Louis Vuitton's summer collection! Give that back!"

Kristoff found it odd seeing someone who did't belong to the brown-skinned populace of the locale. Her eyes were too bright and blue, contrary to the native brown or black, and her fair skin showed a speckling of freckles that one could associate with women from his own nationality. She wore a neon green sleeveless sports shirt and black cycling shorts and a multi-colored scarf wrapped around her neck while her arms balanced bagages and plastic bags of different sizes. Beside her stood two large strollers decorated in pink and red snowflake and heart stickers, and a third one lay down on the hot cement wide open, with belongings messily piled on top of one another. The young woman was scolding one of the few kids who curiously came to help her return her belongings who found interest in a pair of lacey panties that had heart-shaped sequins on them. Her face was set in a scowl, yet her eyes bore no ill will for the tanned children. The kids were laughing and teasing one another in their native tongue, probably commenting on the foreign woman's predicament.

The photographer had to resist a snort, seeing how impractical the girl's baggages were. Most of what the young woman carried were stuff Kristoff thought a tourist could do without. With that thought in mind, he raised his camera to his eye, peeking through the viewfinder while an index finger pressed the button that finally tied their fates together.

 _SNAP!_

The sound of a camera's shutter caught the girl's attention.

"Hey!"

The image of a woman with flushed cheeks and a surprised set of eyes was now saved on his trusty camera's memory. The children curiously timed their toothy smiles with the shot, and it was one of the reasons why Kristoff loved the people in that place. It was as if they had built in radars that predicted the clicking of a camera button, making it easy for the photographer to capture a happy childish image.

The woman though, who was the subject of his latest shot, was not very happy.

"Delete that!" the young lady scolded him, pointing a manicured nail at his direction. Her cheeks were flushed due to heat and embarrassment. "You can't take pictures of a beautiful woman in distress without her consent!" She gestured to herself, "Especially when she's having a bit of trouble here!"

Kristoff answered with an amused smirk. "Need help?"

The woman rolled her eyes, unimpressed with the man's callousness. "Well, duh."

The photographer shook his head and fought a chuckle. It had been so long since he last made an encounter with someone who's first language was English, and though content making through a foreign land on his own, he secretly craved the company of another person who didn't have trouble communicating in his tongue. Taking three wide steps towards her direction, he kept his camera within his bag and assisted the woman in repacking her belongings. He was careful not to touch pieces of fabric that obviously resembled the 'unmentionables', and offered to carry some of her bags once the packing was done. The woman thanked him along with the other kids who ran happily carrying a few small coins gifted by the foreigner they assisted. Kristoff noticed a fond smile on the woman's face which quickly disappeared when she turned her attention to him.

"Did you delete the picture?" her tone sounded like she was trying to be regal. She planted a hand on her hip, making the bags dangling by her hips hit her thighs. Kristoff noted how she tried to hide the pain of its weight by the way she grit her teeth and her eye made an involuntary twitch.

"Uh, yeah." he lied quickly.

The woman wasn't convinced, raising an eyebrow skeptically, "Let me see."

The photographer backed away, as if one step she took in his direction was the plague. He moved his bag out of her reach, his eyes blank yet alert for any offensive movement. This reaction didn't please the woman as she pushed forward and tried to reach for the photographer's bag. Unfortunately, the bags on her arms tired her easily, and Kristoff was just too tall for her reach.

"No touching my stuff!" he told her off.

"Well I'm letting _you_ touch my stuff! It's only fair!" the girl argued, trying her best to reach for his camera.

"You needed my help!" the photographer argued. His first physical contact with her was a hand wrapped securely around her wrist like a gentle vice. He pushed her prying hand down while the other pulled her bags out of her arm and placed them over his shoulder. Kristoff tried not to think about how smooth and soft the woman's skin felt.

The woman answered with a groan and a huff, childishly folding her arms on her chest. "Fine! But don't post it on Facebook or Instagram or anything or I am going to sue you!" She paused, giving him a once over before giving him a casually grateful smile. "And thank you for the help." The sudden change of emotion on her face tempted the photographer to pull his camera out and capture the image on camera, but his hands were full to make the effort.

"Your welcome." he answered with a nod.

"Just no Instagram, Facebook, or Twitter! Not even on Tumblr or any other social media or image hosting website!" she quickly added.

"You have my word." he chuckled, taking one of her strollers with the hand he used to gently push her hand away. "Miss..."

"Anna." she supplied for him, holding out a hand before realizing that his hands were full. Anna withdrew her hand and used it instead to tuck a stray lock behind her ear as a light blush graced her freckled cheeks. "Just Anna."

"Kristoff." he said. "Nice to be talking to someone who speaks English for a change."

Anna laughed, "It's a little disorienting talking to people who have no idea what you're saying."

"Yeah," the photographer replied awkwardly. Kristoff wasn't exactly the type to withstand long conversations, putting their small moment of acquaintance to an uneasy pause.

The pair proceeded to a nearby parking lot for passenger tricycles. Kristoff noted how the driver's eyes rose in amaement at how many the woman's belongings were. Being the gentleman he was, he decided to pay for the fair for both of them (to which Anna furiously refused yet accepted anyway).

"Where to?"

"Rex Hotel." Anna said after making herself comfortable within the thight space of the side car. Kristoff thought she looked funny with her legs propped awkwardly on top of her bags before her destination finally clicked on his cnscious mind.

"Rex Hotel?" he asked. "I'm staying there too."

The girl's eyes brightened at this information, lips stretching into a cheerful grin. Kristoff guessed that she was relieved to have a potential guide close by. The mere thought of it aggravated him, and he hoped that his encounter with such a spritely woman wouldn't last too long.

Fate had a funny way of throwing a curveball though.

They've reached the heart of the city embraced by green hills and crowned by a large, nearly perfect cone-shaped volcano. The Rotonda was a commercial area that produced a symphony of horns, yammers, buzz, and roaring motors. It wasn't like Arendelle were cars emitted nearly zero smoke, but the seemingly messy ambiance enthralled tourists in a way that the city seemed to have an inexplicable vibrancy one couldn't see in high end environments. The hotel they checked in was located on the second floor of an old building with a clean and classy fast food chain restaurant located below and a mass market mall located across the street. In line with their location were pawnshops, electronics stores, parking spaces, and textile emporiums among many others. The street between these buildings was part of the city's main road where jeepneys and cars of every shape and size passed by. Afternoons where among the city's busiest times of day, making it impossible for anyone used to tranquil provinces take their afternoon naps. While the photographer found this environment quite convenient and rather invigorating, the displeasure on Anna's face and some comments about how there was a lack of taxis kept Kristoff's mouth shut for conversations regarding his fondness for the city.

They reached Anna's room which was, to the photographer's dismay, adjacent to his own. He for privacy's sake did not diclose this information as of yet while helping her carry her things inside. By the way the room was arranged in a suspiciously girly fashion, with a bed covered in pink comforters, the hotel curtains replaced with beaded ones, and bottles and cases of beauty products placed neatly on the vanity table, Kristoff guessed that Anna had already been staying for possibly a few days prior. Strange that he hadn't noticed her before but.. what was she doing at the boulevard with her luggage?

Before he could make the question, the girl provided him her answer in embarrassment, "Uhm... I just bought these things from that mall by the pier. I got lost after passing through the exit. Didn't think I slaved my way to the boulevard."

Kristoff threw her an incredulous look, "You went shopping... and bought all _that_?"

Anna chuckled uneasily, "Retail therapy? Duh."

The photographer resorted to shaking his head with an amused smirk.

"Well, uhm..." she fidgeted where she stood. "Thanks for the help, Kristoff."

The man shrugged, "No problem. I better be off now."

He turned, hoping that the girl would close the door soon so he could retire to his own room secretly. But he could still feel her eyes on his back, and his awkward self decided to make a run for the exit and make her think he didn't check in there (which he knew was pretty stupid, but Kristoff was an awkward person in general when it came to new people). Just as soon as he decided to take another step forward, Anna caught him by the wrist and made him face her.

Realizing her actions seemed brash, Anna quickly released her hold on his wrist with a muttered, "Sorry."

"What?"

"Uhm, I... uh..." she bit her lip. "Would you like to get some coffee or toast or something else if you're not into coffee? Or ice cream, yeah, because ice cream works too and..."

"No, no. I'm fine." Kristoff assured, raising his hands nervously. "But thanks though."

"Please?" the girl begged. "I don't really know anyone here in the city and all." She tried (and horribly failed) to bat her eyelashes in a seductive manner. "And I am uh... in terrible need of a guide."

Kristoff mustered a deadpanned look in the hopes of discouraging her. He was never really the type to willingly help a person nor engange with people even with the most mundane affairs, but the girl had a rather peculiar aura of persuasion. Kristoff's services weren't free most of the time and judging by the pampered nature of her room, Anna might have been considerably well-to-do.

Nodding his consent and earning a triumphant cheer from the strawberry blonde, they found themselves later inside the restaurant beneath the hotel, sipping coffee and munching on pasta with yellow sauce topped with brown crispies, a sliced boiled egg and onions which the locals called _palabok_. There weren't many customers, and most who came in were either local tourists or workers on snack break. He observed the box-type interior of the restaurant, from its home-y cushioned chairs to its ivor tabletops. It wasn't the most classy food chain restaurant in the city, but it was definitely not a place for people who make less than one hundred dollars a month either.

Occassionally, the photographer noted how Anna tried to engage conversation with him, probably about what he was doing in the country. But he could see how Anna struggled to do so with a man she had just met, and a very quiet, secretive man at that.

"I'm here for vacation," he lied smoothly, starting the conversation for her sake. "And you?"

"Soul searching." Anna replied after sipping the last drops of her coffee. "Just got out of a bad relationship and looking for new horizons."

The photographer raised a brow, surprised that Anna readily disclosed such personal information.

"What happened?" Kristoff asked, genuinely curious.

"The guy I dated was a douche." Anna said spitefull, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "Only went after me for my sister's company. Believe it or not, my whole love life is one cheesy cheap television soap opera."

Kristoff shrugged. He wasn't really interested in people's love lives.

"Well..." Anna shrugged. "It's not really something I feel comfortable talking about. What about you? Why are you on vacation?"

Anna's flippant quip about apparent discomfort in disclosing her love life and her asking about his vacation was something Kristoff found both amusing and... slightly irritable. For one, it was the girl who initiated conversation about her love life, and two, he didn't like people nosing into his affairs. Kristoff had always been content that way.

But he answered her nonetheless, "I like traveling. It's better than sitting in an office doing boring paper work."

"You mean you're jobless?"

"Traveling is part of my job."

"Wow." she murmured in awe. "Must be cool to have a job where you could travel all the time."

Kristoff smiled at this. "It is."

"It's nice never being in the same place twice." Anna sighed. "Never had that chance even with resources at my disposal."

Kristoff raised a brow, "Rich girl?"

Anna giggled, ,"No. I'd say just... lucky." :)

From there conversation began flowing in a smoothness like the way condensed milk is poured on a bed of fluffy whipped cream. Such a strange comparison, thought the photographer, as one small talk about the mundane things gradually made him at ease with his fellow stranger to a strange land. They spoke about the weather, about air ports, about funny languages and funny people. They discussed topics of utterly platonic importance, and yet Kristoff found a curious interest in the way the girl's eyes widen when flustered or when she stammered. He had always seen blue eyes, but never had he seen eyes that were like Anna's.

Anna had crystal blue eyes that reminded the young photographer of the nearby ocean during the sun rise. Sometimes he jogged by the seawall behind a tropical themed mall during the mornings and just took pictures of the sea when he wasn't taking pictures of people. They sparkled like enchanting blue crystal while decorated by light in a soft dusting of hazy glitters.

"Where'd you get your eyes?" He asked suddenly.

Anna blinked, "My eyes?"

He nodded.

The girl could not fight a flattered blush, "My mom had blue eyes."

"Had?"

She answered with a melancholic smile, "My parents are already dead."

The girl's shoulders slumped, her previously cheerful face downcast. Her swift changes in mood had the photographer thinking she was on her period.

Of course he failed to restrain his thoughts from leaving his lips.

"Wait-what?" she asked incredulously.

"Period?" Kristoff mentally slapped himself.

A few seconds of uneasy silence fell until Anna broke it with an unladylike guwaff.

The way her face scrunched up in light humored glee made the photographer's name itch.

It wasn't until evening fell that they had to say their goodbyes. Kristoff felt the urge to take this girl named Anna's picture; even as they left the restaurant and talked some more, Kristoff wanted to take more of her pictures... so much that he unconsciously took three steps back and felt for his bag when he didn't notice an over-speeding motorcycle pass behind him.

 _"Watch out!"_

Before Kristoff felt the painful impact of a motor bike's handle jabbing his left shoulder blade and the hot and hard feeling of falling against the rough cemented road of Legazpi Boulevard; before he took the time to register the shocked and worried expressions of the whole world before him as he stared up at the bright blue afternoon sky, the young photographer made the most monumental discovery since his first day on that warm foreign land:

Kristoff found his new subject for The Ice Master's latest portfolio.

... ... ...

A/N: sleepy as a log. Yaaaawn

Three words: first Kristanna fix.

For hoarfrost-rn

*Yaaaaawn

Sorry. Rough around and edges and lame and rushed. :3 I'll leave my first Kristanna yo you.


End file.
